


Child of War

by GalacticHalfling



Series: Legends of Llelwyn [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls
Genre: Azura isn't the only Daedric Prince who meddles in the Nerevarine's fate, Gen, Kid!Fic, Madseth Llelwyn origin story (sort of), Mercenaries, Off-screen Character Death, War, bad summary, dead bodies, late second era, off-screen death by fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:41:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23270389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalacticHalfling/pseuds/GalacticHalfling
Summary: The war with Morrowind is over. The Armistice is under negotiation and is expected to be signed any time now. For the mercenary known as Morrigan that means it’s time to leave to somewhere where there are still battles to be fought. But when she goes out onto the field for a last bit of good old post-battle looting she crosses paths with someone and she reluctantly takes on an unexpected responsibility.
Series: Legends of Llelwyn [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1260629
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	Child of War

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn’t find a date for the Armistice. But since Tiber Septim became emperor of all of Tamriel in 896 I simply picked a date two years earlier. Reassembling the Numidium and conquering the Summersets will have taken at least some time. If anyone knows the date please tell me so that I can put in the correct one!
> 
> In case anyone is wondering why my Nerevarine was born in the 2nd Era:  
> My first Morrowind character looked kind of middle-aged. And since I mostly go with the ‘Real Barenziah’ when it comes to elven lifespans (well, maybe the 1000 years are a little exaggerated, but considering that Barenziah had children when she was almost 400 years old it’s probably not that far off) that meant that he would have been somewhere in his 400s. Going from there the headcanon shown in this story was born.
> 
> This story was beta read by a friend from my local writing group. But since both her and me aren't native speakers some mistakes might still have slipped our notice.  
> Comments, thoughts and critique are welcome.
> 
> Edit: I just reread some lore stuff and realize that I accidentally disregarded some information from "On Morrowind". According to that book the fighting never reached the central parts of Morrowind. I simply forgot about that book - but since I would have to completely rewrite this story I guess I have to live with this being somewhat AU now.

_2E 894 Deshaan Plane, somewhere near Mournhold_

“Hey, Morrigan, where are you going?”

“Out on the field to loot. Like any self-respecting mercenary should.”

“Like that can’t wait till morning! Where’s your sense of fun? This is our last day in Deshaan – that needs to be celebrated! We’ve got whores and mead, and even wine if that’s more to your distinguished High Rock taste.”

Morrigan snorted. “Nah, I bet your whores are all women anyway. And I won’t spend all my money on wine when I don’t know when the next pay is coming. That Armistice is bad for our business.”

“I can get you the wine for free. And _I’m_ not a woman.”

“So you’re saying you’re a whore now? I’m sorry to say this, Birk, but you should keep selling your sword arm rather than your _sword_ – you’ll get more customers.”

Laughing, Morrigan walked away, leaving the spluttering Nord behind at the edge of the Imperial war camp.

The gruesomeness of battlefields was as ancient and constant as war itself. To Morrigan who knew no trade but that of war the scenery of mutilated dead and dying bodies was nothing that would dampen her good cheer. Death was an eventuality, and to Morrigan it was enough that this day it hadn’t been hers.

She wasn’t the only person out on the field to strip the dead of their valuables. A few others were also using the last hours before nightfall to add to their pay. Some of them scurried around trying to be inconspicuous, clearly ashamed of being seen doing something as ignoble as stealing from the dead. Others strode over the field with the same audacity as Morrigan.

She kept away from the other looters to avoid getting into unnecessary arguments over who was going to keep some item. Whistling to herself, she wove through the chaos, careful not to stumble over limbs or slip on wet earth.

Morrigan didn’t bother with the soldiers’ armors and weapons, since they were too heavy to carry around anyway. Instead she went for coin purses, necklaces, rings and similar small items. From time to time she scared up some bugs or odd little things that looked like bat-winged, featherless birds and had already started feasting on the corpses. By now Morrigan was acquainted well enough with the fauna of Morrowind to know that the bigger carrion eaters – most of them animals that wouldn’t shy away from living beings either if they didn’t know how to defend themselves – would start coming out at night.

Not too far away from her a small copse of trees had been burned down completely by what looked to have been a very high-powered fireball. Morrigan was a little impressed. That attack surely had cost a great deal of magicka. She called the sword her weapon of choice. But she _was_ a spellsword and rather handy with destruction magic, too. Still devastation of the scale used on that group of trees was far beyond her skills. She made her way over to the black husks of trees and bushes.

She didn’t find any officers in glass and ebony with gold laced tabards. No, the badly burned victims of the attack wore no armor at all. What was still recognizable of their clothing was nothing more than cheap hemp clothes. These were civilians who simply had been at the wrong place at the wrong time, maybe traveling, maybe even trying to flee from the war. Most likely the attack that killed them had accidentally missed its intended target.

At that realization Morrigan abruptly stopped her whistling. She made her living by killing, but she had some honor. She did _not_ hurt civilians unless they attacked her first or involved themselves otherwise in the fight. So she allowed herself a short moment of compassion for these poor souls who had been unfairly slain. Not, that life was ever fair.

But dead was still dead, and meant that they wouldn’t need goods anymore that were meant to be used by living people. So Morrigan went over to them to look for money and jewelry.

She found bags full of coins, as if these people had chosen to carry their entire fortune with them. They had probably been fleeing from the war. The money was still far less than what nobles would take with them on a daily basis but if Morrigan was careful with her expenses their coin alone would bring her across half of Tamriel, and hopefully last her till she got a new employment.

With these thoughts in mind she went over to the last of the civilian dead. The woman lay a bit off from the center of the explosion so she hadn’t been entirely burnt to cinder like the rest of them. Considering the dark elves’ high resistance to fire it probably hadn’t been a quick death. Morrigan looked at her with a mix of morbid interest and sympathy as she bowed down to roll over the woman, since she didn’t have any jewelry or bags on her back. It wasn’t quite as easy as Morrigan had expected from the dark elf’s slight stature. The dead woman’s arms were clasping something underneath her, and they were already stiff, more likely from the usual rigor mortis than from the heat – since they seemed to have been mostly shielded from the fire. With some difficulty Morrigan managed to pry the arms apart and finally turned the corpse over – only to freeze in shock.

A pair of wide, blank children’s eyes was staring up at her. Before her on the ground a small boy was curled up around himself, appearing untouched by the fire. For seconds Morrigan could do nothing but look. The child blinked. _Not dead._ More moments passed before Morrigan managed to tear her gaze away from those empty, blood red eyes. Slowly her mind started working again. Morrigan’s first urge was to turn around and leave, pretending that she hadn’t seen the boy. She pulled herself together almost at once though. It often took days if not longer before anyone came to a battlefield to burn or bury the dead – if anyone would bother at all. If she left the child he would be eaten by wild animals or maybe die of hunger and thirst later. For all that Morrigan had not _much_ of a heart she wasn’t quite callous enough to leave a child to certain death.

A bit hesitantly she reached out with one hand towards the boy. He shied away from her, a brief flicker of fear animating his face for a moment. It wasn’t the reaction Morrigan had hoped for, but it was relieving to see that the child was capable of _some_ expression. More than once she had seen grown men so deep in shock that they didn’t notice anything around them anymore. At least this boy had his sense of self-preservation still intact.

“Easy. I’m not going to hurt you,” Morrigan said in a tone that she hoped was somewhat calm and soothing. She spread her hands before her, palms turned up and keeping them very still to show that she was neither drawing any weapon nor preparing a spell.

The child kept his eyes on her but didn’t show any reaction. It occurred to Morrigan that he probably didn’t speak any Tamrielic. And unfortunately the vocabulary of Dunmeris that she had picked up during the war consisted of little more than curses and death threats. “You don’t need to be afraid. I’ll bring you somewhere safe,” she continued. Without a common language between them it was like talking to a spooked horse – not that Morrigan was especially good with animals. She sought for something else to say. Maybe introductions? “I’m called Morrigan. It’s not quite my name, but everyone calls me that so…” she cut herself off, realizing that she was rambling. “Morrigan,” she repeated instead, pointing at herself. Then she pointed at the child. “You?” she asked.

The boy blinked, and then mouthed a word, barely a whisper; so that Morrigan had to guess more than that she actually understood what he said. “Madseth?” she repeated for confirmation.

The boy gave a short nod.

“Right, Madseth. I’ll bring you somewhere safe,” she said once more and reached out to the child again. Whether it were her gestures or her words, something of what she had done seemed to have helped since the boy didn’t draw away, and even let her pull him up into a standing position. He barely reached up to her chest. Morrigan had no idea how to judge a child’s age, but he looked just so _small_ that she felt horribly uncomfortable with the idea that she would have to take care of him even if just for the few hours that it would take to do whatever she was going to do with him, probably find someone who had a better idea how to deal with children.

“Come. Let’s go someplace with … less dead people, how does that sound?” Morrigan said somewhat awkwardly and made a few steps to lead the child away from the copse of burnt trees.

She didn’t get far though: The moment Madseth realized that they were leaving he tore his hand lose and scrambled back to the body of the woman, who was very likely his mother, and clutched at her arm instead.

Morrigan sighed. She had expected something like that. Even grown men and women tended to act unreasonably in the face of shock and loss, so children would probably be worse. At least the boy wasn’t crying. “You can’t stay here,” she tried to explain, frustrated that her words probably meant nothing to the child. “It’s almost evening. It’s going to be dark soon.” Once again she reached out to gently tuck the boy away from his mother, but all he did was shake his head violently and cling even harder to the dead woman.

“She’s dead. Nothing you can do!” Morrigan shouted with an angry, sweeping gesture towards the massacre around them. “Lying among corpses, hugging dead bodies, that’s just inviting Sheogorath!”

Madseth flinched and looked up again though not at Morrigan, instead following her hand gesture, freezing at the sight. For a moment he sat perfectly still, shoulders tensed before he seemed to tear himself from whatever had caught his attention with a silent gasp. Morrigan had the suspicion that it had been the first time that he had actually looked at the death and destruction all around them. She watched the child, uncertain how to proceed. Should she simply pick him up and carry him away and ignore if he struggled? She didn’t enjoy the idea. It would take her hours at least to find a village or similar place where she could leave the boy, and while he was small he wasn’t quite small enough to carry him for that long if he tried to get free the entire time.

Still undecided, Morrigan watched as the boy pulled off a necklace that he was wearing. It was very simple: A triangular chitin chip with some markings on it hanging from a cheap cord made from twined rice straw. He laid it down on his mother’s chest and folded his hands in a gesture of prayer, mouthing soundless words. He remained like that for some moments before turning away with his head bowed and hands visibly shaking.

“We have to get going now. I’m not waiting any longer,” Morrigan told the boy sternly. She gripped his shoulder to once more pull him up. Madseth didn’t struggle against it, and when he was standing he straightened his shoulders, his face taking on a look of resolve that would have been heart breaking to see on a child so young to anyone who had more of an idea what children were supposed to be like than Morrigan. As it was, Morrigan was just relieved that she didn’t have to pull the boy away kicking and screaming.

Together they slowly walked away from the sight of the carnage. Only after a few steps Morrigan stopped once more. The boy was definitely limping, and although he didn’t make any sound of pain she noticed that he flinched with every step.

_Damn, should have checked him for injuries first._

Looking closer she quickly noticed that one side of his right foot was reddish and blistered, apparently having been hurt by the heat of the fire after all. It was nothing that a minor healing potion or a quick bit of restoration magic wouldn’t take care of. But unfortunately Morrigan was out of potions, and what little restoration she knew were only self-healing spells.

“Really, he could have _said_ something,” she grumbled while picking up Madseth and settling him on her shoulders so he didn’t have to use his injured foot anymore.

Morrigan tried to think of a place where she could bring the child. The war camp of the Dunmeri army would have been the obvious choice, but they had broken camp hours ago – probably to withdraw to better fortified towns or strongholds which they could do far more easily than the Imperial forces due to their home advantage. So Morrigan tried to remember if she had come across any settlements that hadn’t been destroyed by the war. She wasn’t entirely certain but settled on a direction where she _hoped_ to reach a village before nightfall and started walking towards it in a brisk pace.

Their almost two hour long walk passed in silence. In the last light of dusk Morrigan and Madseth finally reached a farmstead with lights burning in the windows, indicating that despite the trampled and torn appearance of the surroundings people still lived there.

“Let’s hope someone here speaks Tamrielic,” Morrigan muttered as she walked towards the front door. Most dark elves of middle age and older seemed to know at least a little, due to the Ebonheart Pact that existed during the late 6th century, or so Morrigan had heard. She set Madseth down – so she would be able to move freely in case it would come to a fight – then she knocked.

There was the noise of a chair being pushed over an earthen floor, hushed voices, then footsteps. A male voice called out from behind the door. Morrigan didn’t understand the words, but could guess that it was a ‘who’s there?’ She briefly glanced towards Madseth, but he watched the goings-on with the same sort of apathy that he had exhibited since leaving his mother’s side, not that Morrigan had expected him to do something.

“I’m sorry,” Morrigan called back, “I don’t speak your language. But I mean no harm.”

There were more footsteps and more talking. They didn’t keep their voices down much. Again Morrigan glanced towards Madseth in case he might react to anything he overheard in a meaningful way, but from his expressionless gaze she couldn’t guess if he was even registering that anyone was talking.

“Outlander,” the man inside spoke again addressing Morrigan, this time in heavily accented Tamrielic. The word was laced with the sort of expressive disdain only dark elves were capable of. “You already killed cattle, burnt crops and come with war to us. We deal not with your sort.”

“I’m not here to gain anything from you. I’m here because I’ve found a child.”

There was a short pause – possibly from surprise. “We aren’t looking for child,” the man finally said.

“I didn’t think you were. He’s an orphan, I think. He should be with his kind. And I have no use for children.”

“Our guar are dead. Our rice was trampled and burnt. We cannot feed us. We cannot feed child. Go to other people.”

“He’s injured. It’s dark already. And I have no idea where to look for someone to take him. I could just as well leave him on your door step so that it’s on you if he gets killed by wild animals or falls ill from the cold at night,” Morrigan replied harshly.

There was a short pause. Then a question, slightly hesitant: “How many of you are there?”

“Just me and the child,” Morrigan said honestly. Stating it like that, in the middle of enemy territory, felt uncomfortable, but she hadn’t heard more than two people moving in the room behind the door; and if all else failed her katana was always close at hand.

“You swear to do no harm?” the farmer continued cautiously.

“As long as neither you nor anybody else attacks me first.”

A latch was drawn back and the door swung open. The room inside was furnished sparsely. Apart from a table with two chairs there were only a hearth and some rice straw mats. Another door indicated that there was at least one more room.

A girl stood at one of the small stained-glass windows which were set in the front wall. Morrigan was unskilled in judging elven age but guessed she wasn’t older than 20. The man who had opened the door was grey-haired and elderly. Both wore simple, well-worn clothing and seemed even bonier and more sharp-featured than was common for elves. Obviously they hadn’t been lying when saying that they had fallen on hard times.

Morrigan picked up Madseth from where he was standing outside, favoring one leg, and carried him in. “His foot is injured,” she told the old man in explanation.

The dark elf nodded and indicated towards one of the chairs before turning to the girl saying something in Dunmeris. Morrigan walked over to the chair and set Madseth on it. The small boy didn’t react much to any of this, only watching the goings-on with a slightly distant expression.

Once he was seated the girl went to him, and started talking to Madseth in their native language while checking on his injured leg. Morrigan was relieved that finally someone else was looking after the child and made a few steps away from them almost hastily. Instead she turned towards the old man again since so far only he had spoken Tamrielic with her.

“We will not take child,” he repeated at her. “Salithi will look at injury. Then you will take him to other people. To Temple. They take care of needy.”

“Why should I be the one to take him there? I don’t speak your language, I don’t know the way to your temple, and it’s not as if I know this boy any better than you do.”

“We will not leave our house. Times are too dangerous. You’ve got sword. You brought him her. You go.”

The man did have a point. An old man and two children would probably end up in a ditch with their throats cut if they braved the road in times like these. Still, Morrigan was a mercenary not a nanny. There was nothing to gain for her here. She had already brought the child to some local people – she could just walk out now and leave it in the farmers’ responsibility what should be done with the child.

… but there was the very real possibility that they _would_ simply abandon the boy. And anyway it was true that now, with the Armistice about to be signed, Morrigan didn’t have duties binding her to any place or schedule. She could just as well go and look for work in Morrowind. Taking the brat with her for one more day wouldn’t kill her.

“Alright. I’ll do it,” she amended grudgingly. “But not now. It’s dark already. And you have to tell me the way at least.”

The old elf was about to reply, when the girl – Salithi – turned to him, speaking in rapid Dunmeris. She sounded concerned – at least Morrigan imagined that she heard a note of concern. With the generally harsh and dismissive tone of Dunmeris it was really hard to tell.

“Salithi says boy doesn’t speak. Is he mute? Or deaf?” the man translated the topic of their exchange.

Morrigan shrugged looking over to Madseth – he sat on the chair, straight-backed and his hands curled as if he was on edge, but not watching any one in particular; his face seemed almost indifferent. “He’s not deaf. He told me his name when asked – it’s Madseth – but it’s not as if he made much of a sound even then. So maybe he’s mute, or just spooked, or touched in the head. It matters little to me.”

The dark elf frowned – Morrigan wasn’t sure if at her attitude or at the information. He turned to Salithi and said something, probably translating the Breton’s answer.

“So, how do I find this Temple? And where can we stay for the night?” Morrigan continued the part of the conversation that she was most concerned about.

“There are only little shrines in villages, no proper Temple. Mournhold is nearest. Little to west, little to north. It’s not far. There should be road – unless it got blown up,” at the last part the elf stared accusingly at Morrigan as if he thought her personally responsible for the current state of destruction within the region. She barely stopped herself from replying that she felt flattered by his ire but really didn’t have the magical fire power to wreak that much havoc on her own. Instead she just answered: “Fine. And what about a place to spend the night?”

“Not in my house. I trust you not. Go and sleep in barn. Behind house. Boy, too – or you would just go and leave him with us anyway. That would be not good.”

“How gracious of you,” Morrigan replied snidely, but didn’t argue the point further.

Once more the girl turned to the older mer, talking. “Salithi wrapped his foot and put salve on it. Makes it heal quicker but is not potion like fancy people have,” the old mer explained. “Now take boy and go.” He hesitated a moment and looked as if it took him some effort to finally add, “I wish you luck.”

“I won’t say ‘no’ to luck,” Morrigan replied with an easy shrug while walking towards Madseth. “Though I prefer not to count on it.” The boy showed hardly more reaction than a doll as she picked him up. With a last look towards the small farmer family Morrigan left the house.

It was fully dark by now. Masser hung already above the eastern horizon but Secunda had yet to rise and so the entire landscape was cast into a faint, red light. “Now I only hope that barn is any good for shelter,” Morrigan muttered while walking around the house. She had to mind her steps in the dark since the ground was uneven and ruble lay strewn around.

The barn was easy to find and not far from the house. Like many buildings in Morrowind it was made from adobe with a flat straw roof. A wooden double door was set into the front, but one of its wings was splintered and halfway unhinged. Morrigan cast a nights-eye spell, set the boy down next to her, and laid a hand on the hilt of her katana before walking inside warily. Apart from bits of straw scattered in the back of the room and a few forks and shovels leaning against a wall the building was completely empty. Whoever had been plundering here had been thorough. But at least the building was still mostly intact, so they would be sheltered from wind and rain.

Morrigan briefly contemplated lighting a fire for additional warmth and to keep animals away but decided against it – she couldn’t very well do so _inside_ , and if she made the fire at the entrance it would alert people to their location. Instead she cast a fire rune on the floor of the barn. It glowed a dull red, emitted heat and was _not_ the sort of rune that would explode in your face once touched. That would have been bothersome. Morrigan dropped her backpack and stretched, relieved to be finally rid of the burden. While there had been only relatively little fighting in the morning before the high-ups had started truce talks it had still been a long day. And it had ended with her taking care of some brat. _Just wonderful_. She set down on the hard, cold floor and pulled the rest of her rations from her backpack before turning towards said brat. The boy stood still at the entrance, facing away from her. She called out to him and he limped towards her – giving the rune a wide berth. Seeing him flinch while walking she remembered that she should probably have picked him up for this short distance as well and felt a bit bad. Madseth stopped next to her and after some hesitation set down. He watched her intently while she ate her rations. Morrigan sighed as she realized that _he_ hadn’t eaten or drunk for hours either. “You want something as well, don’t you?” she asked and handed Madseth some of the stale bread and her water skin. He drank in great gulps and Morrigan decided that she would _definitely_ refill her water skin at the farm’s well. There was no way that those farmers could claim to be short on water as well! This wasn’t the Aliki’ir desert after all.

While the boy munched on the bread Morrigan prepared her bed roll only to realize two things: The boy needed a place to sleep as well – and they would need to keep a watch since her approach alarm spell only worked when she was alone. At least the watch would take care of the sleeping arrangements. But that left the fact that she would have to let a small child keep watch. A child who might or might not be still too much under shock to notice more than half of what was happening around him and who didn’t speak her language. _Great Boethiah, if_ that _ends up being the cause for my death I swear I’ll come back as a vengeful spirit and kill those stupid farmers!_

But there was nothing to be done about it. She wondered how she would try to explain to the boy what he was supposed to do and realized that there was no chance she could tell him to wake her around midnight in a way that he would understand. So first watch for her it was. At least explaining that he should sleep wasn’t all that hard.

When Masser had reached its zenith Morrigan got up from her post at the door – nothing noteworthy had happened during her watch. “Hey, Madseth,” she called out.

The boy turned around and muttered something unintelligible. _Huh, not mute it seems_. “Get up, it’s your watch,” slowly Madseth raised his head looking around in confusion and suspicion. The expression morphed quickly into pain and resignation.

Morrigan was way too tired to deal with any emotional drama so she ignored all of that. She only focused on giving the boy an instruction along the line of ‘Keep watch and if you see danger – wake me!’ via pantomime. He actually seemed to pay close attention to her gestures and nodded when she was finished.

“Oh, and take this, just in case,” Morrigan added as an afterthought, pulling one of her spare daggers from her boot and handing it to Madseth, hilt first.

The boy grabbed the weapon. It was big enough to be a short sword for him. He weighed it in his hands with movements that seemed eerily well practiced for such a young child. What was the meaning of that? So far he had seemed innocent and harmless, but his apparent familiarity with blades made Morrigan’s paranoia spike. All of a sudden she wasn’t quite sure anymore if it was a good idea to let the boy have a weapon while she would be asleep. Without much of a thought she snatched the dagger back out of his hands. For a moment something close to confusion flickered over Madseth’s face, but he didn’t react otherwise.

Morrigan pointed to the door and mimed looking around. She watched carefully how Madseth set down close to the broken door. Hopefully he was up to the task. Hopefully he wouldn’t murder her in her sleep. She snorted.

Despite the worrying situation Morrigan knew that she needed the sleep and so she forced her thoughts to rest. Until she finally fell asleep she watched the boy who apart from tapping his fingers a little didn’t move once and set upright and tense as a spring, his eyes turned towards the nightly landscape outside the barn.

Morrigan dreamed. That alone was rare enough. Madseth was there with her in the dream. He was older than he was now, though not by much. The both of them held wooden swords and seemed to be engaged in a mock fight. Before Morrigan could really start to wonder how they had ended up in that situation the scene changed.

She found herself running through a maze of massive weathered rock formations that seemed vaguely familiar. The sky above was a deep violet shot through with almost constant flashes of lightning. The air was boiling hot and filled with the sounds of great battles. From time to time spouts of lava suddenly erupted from the floor and through small gaps in the walls entire rivers and lakes of molten rock could be seen. High on the walls or in alcoves, stick thin creatures were cowering with long talons, tails and thorns all over their haggard bodies. They hissed and spit or threw threats at Morrigan. She ignored them and only slowed down occasionally to fight one who came closer trying to make good on its threats.

Finally the maze opened onto a great lake of lava. Many other similar labyrinths lead out onto this place. A very thin stone bridge without rails arched high over the lava ending at an island in the middle. At first glance the island appeared like a mountain, but in coming closer Morrigan saw that it really was a humongous snake that lay curled up in the lake. At the highest point – almost within the thunderous clouds – on the snake’s head sat a figure. Within normal physics it would have been impossible to make out details from where Morrigan stood. But this was a place beyond mortal norms. It looked vastly different from that one time that she had seen it before yet Morrigan recognized the surroundings almost instantly and knew that the person sitting lazily on the snake’s head was the mistress of this realm. She looked almost like a dunmer and was draped in a red cape. In one hand she twirled a great labrys as if it was as small and light as a dagger.

“Ah, there you are,” she drawled. “As you surely have guessed already I have a task for you. Unfortunately it is, for once, not one of bloodshed and mayhem.” There was a tone of true regret in the daedroth’s voice.

Morrigan raised an eyebrow but kept listening. Stupid questions would not be welcome, she knew as much.

“You have… come across this dunmer child. He has the potential for great deeds in his future, for change … for terrible battles. Azura thinks she is so clever with her little prophecy and all – but honestly it has been ages without results so I chose to meddle a bit as well. The boy must not get to the temple of that pathetic impostor who claims to have replaced _me._ ” The lava around the island began boiling in reaction to its mistress’ wrath. “So – take that brat, teach him all the important things. If you don’t do too horribly you’ll be rewarded. Now leave!”

And with that the surroundings melted away.

Morrigan didn’t get any time to think about what she had just been told. There was some shuffling and hissing and she woke up realizing that those sounds were real. At once she stood, sword in hand and focused on any possible threats. The next instant she brought her blade down upon the wolf-sized beetle that had somehow found its way into the barn. With a wet ‘chuck’ the beast’s head fell to the ground. 

Only then did Morrigan look around properly and saw Madseth standing next to the beetle, out of breath and with a blade in hand that was covered with the beetle’s goo-like blood. It was one of her daggers. How in Oblivion had the boy managed to get one of her daggers without her noticing?!

Madseth turned towards her following her gaze and ducking his head with an apologetic smile. He flicked his wrist in an only mildly successful attempt to shake the blood off and held the dagger out for Morrigan to take it back. She made a refusing gesture. Better he had a weapon to defend himself with. This way he wouldn’t take hers again and she wouldn’t find herself short of a weapon at an inopportune moment.

The boy smiled a bit shyly apparently happy that he could keep the blade. It seemed he was finally getting over the utter apathy he had exhibited the other day. Morrigan checked him over for any injury but thankfully didn’t find any. Even the burn on his foot seemed to have faded overnight. Afterwards she inspected the beetle. It looked like the boy had managed to slash at an unprotected part at its side. The wound had bled a lot and Morrigan was almost surprised that the beast had still been standing when she attacked it. She looked at the boy warily. There was definitely more to him than his innocent exterior led to believe. She snorted. Of _course_ there was – otherwise Boethiah wouldn’t be interested in him. Thinking it like that the reality of the whole situation suddenly caught up with her. She would have to put up with this child. Drag him around with her where ever she went. Teach him. Try to not get him killed. How in Oblivion was she supposed to do _any_ of that?! She let out a string of curses in various languages.

Madseth looked at her with something that looked an awful lot like concern. With a sigh Morrigan told herself to pull herself together. She had no idea what she was supposed to do. Fine, so she would improvise. Not like she didn’t do that quite often anyway. For now she would need to get back to the Imperial encampment in hopes that they hadn’t packed up already. She needed to get a few things that she had left there, like her cold weather clothing and the tools which she used to repair her weapons and armor.

Quickly and methodically she put all her belongings into her backpack and dissolved the fire rune. Then she left the barn, waving at Madseth to follow her. “Come on, boy, we have places to be!”

Most of the war camp had already been taken down, but at some places people were still hauling around tent poles and folding tarpaulins. She walked over to where her tent had been standing. A few parts were still lying around. As she approached she was greeted by Birk,

“Hey, Morrigan! Where have you been? Slacking off and letting all of us do the heavy lifting, eh?”

Morrigan just rolled her eyes.

“There were at least three different people who wanted to make off with your stuff. I told them to bugger off.”

“Don’t expect a kiss for your heroic defense of my property,” Morrigan replied dryly.

“Oh, no appreciation for good deeds at all,” Birk exclaimed theatrically.

Morrigan snorted and picked up her things.

“Wait… what’s that brat doing here?” Birk asked.

“That’s Madseth,” Morrigan replied without turning around.

“He’s … with you? But why would _you_ pick up a child? He’s a bit big for a souvenir!”

“You’re not funny.”

“But seriously: Why? He isn’t … yours?”

“No, he’s my brother,” Morrigan shot back. Because honestly, stupid questions deserved stupid answers. Also if she had to raise this child she would certainly not start _mothering_ him, but the role of a disinterested, slightly mean big sister? That she could do.

Birk just stared at her in disbelieve.

Morrigan looked towards Madseth who stood slightly behind her, frowning at the Nord, then she turned back towards Birk. “ _Half_ -brother. Obviously,” she added with her most deadpan expression.

The Nord still seemed skeptical, but eyed Morrigan’s slightly pointed ears and seemed to come to the conclusion that it wasn’t entirely impossible.

“Any news on new employment options?” Morrigan changed the topic.

“I hear Elseweyre is nice this time of the year.”

“Only if you are into fur.” Morrigan turned towards Madseth. “Or what do you think? How does Elseweyre sound to you?”

The boy just cocked his head.

“Oh, well then. We’ll just have to find out.”


End file.
